


For a Good Cause

by Vagabond



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pre-Apocalypse, That's it that's the plot, There's a charity date auction and Aziraphale is one of the dates, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 10:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22714282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: Crowley spends Valentine's Day at a charity event trying to wreak a little havoc. What he doesn't expect is an auction, where one angel appears to be a hot commodity for London's wealthiest.That can't stand, of course.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 277
Collections: Apple-bottom Jorts





	For a Good Cause

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, I love you! Here's a gift from me to you. 
> 
> Shout out to [narcissicticSpaghetti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissisticSpaghetti/pseuds/narcissisticSpaghetti) from the m25 discord channel who beta'ed and suggested the title!

Crowley knew Valentine’s Day was a ridiculous human tradition. He had been there for its earliest iteration, the Lupercalia festival in Rome. Aziraphale said at the time he found it all rather hopeful, love in the air mingling with the promise of spring. 

Crowley insisted it wasn’t love the angel sensed, much to Aziraphale’s annoyance. 

Now it was about buying boxes of chocolates and Valentine’s Day cards, making reservations at fancy restaurants, and as much about being miserable to receive nothing as it was about the joy of being with someone. As a demon he should love it. Nothing quite made demonic wiles stick like the desperation of the lonely on Valentine’s Day. 

He told himself that’s why he attended a charity event on February 14th, to raise money for something related to kids and reading. He knew that those who weren’t there on a date were likely there to forget the fact they didn’t have one, and he could perhaps score some extra points with Beelzebub for his work. 

It was a black tie sort of deal, which is why he went in a black button up and a blood red waistcoat. His tie was skinny, slate grey with red accents to match the waistcoat. He had on a pair of tight black dress trousers, his favorite - and very expensive - watch, and a pair of designer sunglasses. He had spent extra time in front of the mirror doing up his hair, trying not to wonder where Aziraphale was going to be that evening. 

Since the coming of the antichrist they’d seen more of each other in a few short years than they had in centuries, and Crowley liked it. He enjoyed late nights spent in the bookshop, sipping on wine and scheming against Heaven and Hell. He liked watching the way the tension in Aziraphale’s face slipped away the longer they were together at any one time. It was good. Too good. 

And Aziraphale had claimed he needed a break, to do some work Heaven had asked of him. He didn’t want to raise suspicion. 

So, bored, Crowley handed the keys to the Bentley off to a young valet who did a double take. Crowley insisted that the boy should take care not to allow a single scratch on the car and the valet scampered off. Crowley straightened his waistcoat and strolled in, flashing his invitation and then making his way to coat check. He didn’t miss the people who drifted around him, humans engaged in conversation, others alone with a drink in their hands. 

A drink. That sounded about right. After he took the ticket for his coat he made his way out of the foyer into the main ballroom. It was a pretentious sort of location, all old wood and marble accents. There were chairs set up for the program, long buffet tables where people picked their way through finger foods, and best of all catering staff wandering around with trays boasting wine and champagne. 

He started with a red. It seemed appropriate for Valentine’s day. 

For the evening he was Anthony J. Crowley, investment banker with a heart for kids. He smooth talked a woman who eventually left him for her partner, tried to tempt another banker to withhold his generosity (he didn’t), and ended up drowning his apparently lack of good work in more wine. To say he was drunk was an understatement. Humans got drunk. Crowley ascended. 

Eventually, having failed every possible temptation that evening he collapsed into one of the chairs and stuffed a few deviled eggs in his mouth. The program was set to begin and he was trying to pretend he wasn’t moping. 

The program started and he half-listened as a keynote speaker talked about the importance of kindergarten readiness, of children growing up with books. It seemed like the sort of event Aziraphale would actually be interested in, not that he’d ever allow children near any of his collection. Crowley allowed his mind to wander, picturing a toddler drooling over a first edition Wilde with Aziraphale fuming in the background. 

He was jogged out of his daze when the announcer changed. Holding the mic was a young woman in a lovely gown. 

“Of course now we’re finally getting to the part of the night many of you are excited about! It is time for the Date Auction!” 

Date auction? Crowley looked around as the people around him clapped. He scowled. What kind of stupid event was this? At least it was a mite more interesting than it had been previously as he watched them bring up another woman in a gown. She was older, perhaps in her fifties with her greying brown hair pulled back into an elegant bun. Her dress was a lovely shade of blue and she had a lovely smile. 

“The wonderful Ms. Pinkerton is the first dating partner up for auction, bidding starts at five hundred dollars.” 

Crowley scoffed. Who would pay five hundred dollars to go on a date? 

“Five hundred!” A gentleman shouted from another section of the audience. 

“Five fifty!” It was a woman’s voice. 

A bidding war erupted and Crowley took his sunglasses off and looked around. Even at his drunkest, he would have never expected this. Humans had bid on humans since the dawn of time, but it was for far more nefarious reasons. These humans were bidding to go on a date. With a human! 

Her bidding ended just over fifteen hundred dollars and a handsome thirty-something-year-old came to the stage to write a check and claim the arm of the lady. They both walked off of it smiling and Crowley put his sunglasses back on. 

Another individual was auctioned off, swept off their feet by someone who from the audience’s laughter appeared to be their partner. Again, Crowley wondered how this was in any way, shape, or form appropriate for a children’s charity. 

Maybe that’s why he liked it.

“Next up,” the announcer began, “is the real star of the night. Would Mr. Ezra Fell please step out onto the stage?” 

Crowley made a strangled noise as a very familiar angel made his way across the stage. Aziraphale was dressed up for the occasion, having traded away his faded creams and browns for a darker suit with light blue accents. He had a blue tartan bow tie and a nervous smile. 

“This eligible bachelor’s bidding starts at one-thousand dollars, since we know a lot of you have been dying to take him to dinner.” 

Crowley didn’t want to take time to examine the slimy creature in his chest that began to coil and snarl. What was Aziraphale doing? Why had he changed his clothes? People wanted to bid on him? 

The first bid was called, met immediately by another. Voices popcorned around the room as the price soared and Crowley’s blood boiled in his veins. Someone began to call out three thousand dollars and the end squeaked off as a fly lodged itself in their throat and they began coughing. The next bidder yelped when they realized there was a rather large spider on their shoe. 

From the stage, Aziraphale’s eyes found Crowley’s shaded ones and his angel frowned. 

“Five thousand,” Crowley called out in the face of the frown. The room quieted aside from a few surprised murmurs. 

“Six,” another voice said, a man a few rows away who didn’t even bother to look back. 

“Seven!” Crowley snapped. “Thousand.” 

“Seven thousand five hundred,” now the other bidder looked back with a smirk. 

“Eight.” Crowley would donate everything he ever had if it kept Aziraphale out of some stranger’s hands. 

The stranger considered him for a long moment and then shrugged, folding his hands on his lap. He conceded. 

“Eight thousand going once, twice?” The woman on the stage glanced around. “Sold! To the gentleman in the back with the sunglasses.” 

Crowley tried not to tremble as he made his way up to the stage, pulling out a checkbook that had not existed in his pocket a moment ago. He wrote out the check, handed it over, and Aziraphale stepped up and offered his arm. Crowley took it, leading him off the stage, purposely  _ not _ looking at Aziraphale despite being able to feel his stare. 

They went straight to coat check. 

“Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale murmured. “Don’t you want to-” 

“No, I really don’t,” Crowley ground out and let go of Aziraphale only long enough to help him into his coat and shrug on his own. Then he took Aziraphale’s arm again and dragged him out of the building. Aziraphale huffed. 

“Crowley.” Crowley ignored him as he handed his ticket to the valet. “Crowley.” He continued to refuse to look at Aziraphale, wrestling with a million uncomfortable feelings. “Crowley!” 

Finally he looked and found concern on Aziraphale’s face. “Are you alright?” 

He was saved from answering by the arrival of the Bentley which he ushered Aziraphale into. It was only when they were on the road headed in a random direction that Crowley let out a slow breath and thought about speaking. 

“You auctioned yourself off to humans.” 

“For a good cause,” Aziraphale pointed out. 

“You…” He gripped the steering wheel. “You were going to go on a  _ date _ with a human. For money.” 

“Well. When you put it that way it sounds a bit sordid but I assure you the whole thing was on the up-and-up. I was doing it as a favor to a young lady on the board of directors for the organization, she located a few volumes I’d been searching for and offered them to me in exchange for this.” 

“Why?” 

“Well.” There was a flush of red high on Aziraphale’s cheek. “There are quite a few well to do types who have an interest in my collection. According to my friend, they would donate quite a lot for the chance to inquire into it.” 

“Huh.” Crowley allowed silence to hang between them. His foot pressed down on the accelerator. 

“Crowley. Crowley!” Aziraphale sounded exasperated and finally reached out to grab his arm, squeezing. “Please slow down, or pull over, or  _ something _ .” 

There was something in Aziraphale’s voice that compelled him to ease off and pull over on the side of the road, against a curb. He shut the car off and flopped back in his seat. 

“You’re upset,” Aziraphale murmured, squeezing Crowley’s arm again. “Would you like to tell me why?” 

No, he wouldn’t. What was he supposed to say? The thought of Aziraphale going on a date with a human, being auctioned off for the honor of it, pissed him off? Hurt him? Left him wondering how much he should pay to get that kind of attention from him? 

He took off his sunglasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s hand slid down his arm and he laced their fingers together. Crowley stiffened but then squeezed his hand. 

“If I knew eight thousand dollars was what it took to get a date with you on Valentine’s Day I would have paid it twice over,” Crowley whispered with a cringe. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale drew his hand up and pressed his lips to the back of it. Crowley shivered and closed his eyes tightly. It was a dream, it had to be. It was a product of alcohol and longing and the holiday. The stupid, meaningless holiday. “Would you sober up, my dear?” 

Crowley grimaced and did so, hating how warm he was with Aziraphale’s hand in his. Once he was sober he opened his eyes and tilted his head to look over at Aziraphale. Aziraphale smiled back at him and brought his free hand up to touch his cheek. “There you are.” 

Crowley closed his eyes again. Opening them was a mistake. “Come here.” Aziraphale tugged him and Crowley followed, moving over the center console until he was in Aziraphale’s lap. He straddled him, back bent, his face buried in Aziraphale’s shoulder. He embraced him and Aziraphale embraced him in return, one arm around his waist and the other in his hair, stroking. 

“You need only ask,” Aziraphale whispered against his ear. “Though I’m grateful for the donation.” 

Crowley shuddered and nuzzled the skin beneath his nose, breathing in Aziraphale’s soft, warm, almost vanilla smell cut with a light, sweet aftershave. 

“How about this, hm? In exchange for your generous donation I’ll allow you to take me out tonight for dinner, and then we can return to the bookshop. I’ve got a lovely bottle of rosé I picked up that I think you may like. We can drink, and you can let me play with your hair, and perhaps I’ll wrap you up in my arms and let you sleep.” 

“Aziraphale…” Crowley sighed. It all sounded lovely, and dangerous, which just about summed up their entire relationship. He nodded all the same. 

“Would you believe me if I said I’d already bought you flowers?” Aziraphale murmured. “I had hoped, if nothing else, to find you after the charity date and give them to you. They’re lovely, they reminded me of your eyes.” 

“You’re a sap.” 

“Yes, that I am. Now come, you need to drive us somewhere and I expect the restaurant to have at least three courses and dessert.” 

They drove, and ate, and Aziraphale was happy to hang off his arm as they took a short after-dinner walk around the neighborhood. There was something about the impending apocalypse that put Crowley at ease then, that made him wonder if there was any point in being frightened anymore. He looked at Aziraphale, flush from wine and shining in the light from street lamps, and decided at least for Valentine’s Day he’d choose to not be scared. 

At the end of the night Aziraphale drew him upstairs to a flat he’d rarely been to, into a bedroom he’d  _ never _ been in. As promised, he was allowed to slither under the covers and into Aziraphale’s arms. 

“Goodnight, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured and brushed a gentle kiss to his forehead. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, angel,” Crowley mumbled in reply, already drifting off, basking in Aziraphale’s warmth and affection.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to chat, you can find me on [twitter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470514/chapters/53692384) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Right now I have a weekly updated omegaverse fic: [Seared into Skin](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels).


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